Summer with Michael (eBook)

Tom Bierdz (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2018 | 1. Auflage
262 Seiten
Tom Bierdz (Verlag)
978-0-00-014993-0 (ISBN)

Infos

When Michael, a schizophrenic, is kicked out of a halfway house for sexually acting out, his estranged, older brother, Chris, is forced to take him. They go to Florida for the summer in a senior mobile-home park. Well-intentioned, but misguided, Chris tries to cure his brother. For a time Michael charms the old folks with his Michael Jackson style dancing. Then pandemonium sets in. Sometimes funny, sometimes wrenching, the brothers try to resolve the past that brought them to where they are. Does sibling rivalry or brotherly love win?
If you like Rain Man, Silver Lining Playbook, and Manchester by the Sea, you'll love Summer with Michael.

Textauszug

All rights reserved

ISBN 978-0-9983647-0-4

Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.

www.gobookcoverdesign.com

FOR: SUSAN, MY WIFE, AND BEST FRIEND

Special thanks to my readers: Barbara Colburn, Julia Mitchell, and Sue Bierdz

1

Pale and struggling to breathe, the young woman on the TV screen laid on her deathbed, her hand clutched in the hand of her tearful, teenage son who knelt beside her. She looked into his eyes and said, “Promise me, you’ll take care of your brother.” Her words startled Chris, causing him to nearly spill his coffee. He glanced at the television that he had turned on solely for the white noise; it softened that empty, alone feeling. He saw the woman take her last breath and her son cry over her body as he grabbed the remote and zapped it off. The movie, soap opera, or whatever had been playing got under his skin. It was too eerie, even creepy to receive messages from the TV. Strange. Now he was even thinking like his brother. He stood, went to the counter and topped off his coffee. It was appropriate for dying mothers to request an older child to assume the parenting responsibility for a younger sibling since she wouldn’t be around to care for him. But it was quite another thing for a living parent to shift off that responsibility like his parents who fled to Florida had done. They claimed to have had a host of good reasons to move there: the warm climate; that they couldn’t turn down the offer they received for their house; that living there was more affordable allowing for travel and recreation; and that they had relatives living in the area. But the bottom line, the real draw, was to escape from Michael. As a result, it was Chris Gapanowitz instead who had been called–summoned or deployed seemed more accurate–to Stonebridge Manor, the halfway house in Milwaukee where his brother, Michael lived. He sipped his coffee, made a face. His wandering mind had caused the drink to cool. He warmed it in the microwave for 30 seconds, took a sip, and then backed off. Now it was too hot.

Maybe he was being too tough on his parents. Michael was no kid anymore. He had been in institutions since nineteen when he had had his first breakdown. Maybe Chris was resenting being called into Stonebridge for Michael. There was no maybe about it. He was pissed that they had called him. He was no different from his parents in that regard. Out of sight, out of mind. As long as someone else was taking care of Michael he didn’t need to be bothered. He glanced at the clock. It was time to leave for his appointment. He got into his car, entered the address into his GPS and headed for the halfway house.

Big brother, Chris, had never been to Stonebridge Manor, but he didn’t expect it to look like every other house in the neighborhood, a Craftsman two-story with an expansive, sturdy, tapered- columned front porch. He had assumed it would look more institutional like a hospital or nursing home, something brick, square, and forbidding. Not so homey. But what did he know about halfway houses? He had no interest in them and he wouldn’t be here now if he had a choice. But Ira Goodwin, the administrator, had in a most officious tone, summoned him as he was Michael’s brother, the only kin in the area.

Chugalugging from his bottled water to douse the fire in his belly, Chris crawled out of his car, put one foot in front of the other, and forced his way up the creaky porch stairs. He glanced at the rotund boy in the rocker at the porch end whose tight shirt exposed a swath of bare skin above his waist. At first glance, it looked like the hunchback of another person trying to get out. The boy smoked a cigarette and flashed a silly smile as Chris entered the building. A bell attached to the door drew the gaze of an aide who was arranging magazines on a table.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Chris Gaponowitz to see Mr. Goodwin.”

“Are you Michael’s brother?” Her face seemed to light up in an endearing way suggesting a fondness for Michael, but it did little to ease Chris’s distress.

“Yes,” he answered almost inaudibly. Then he repeated it clearing his throat.

“He’s expecting you. Please sit. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

The reception area was cluttered with worn beige and rose-colored sofas that doubled as a staff reading area. The furniture was one step up from college dorm. Chris supposed that appearance was not a priority for a halfway house. That was, or should be, reserved for the residents. Shortly, the woman returned and escorted him down a long hallway to Mr. Goodwin’s office.

Ira Goodwin sat stiffly behind his desk, resting his hands on the top of it as if he was preparing to spring at Chris with the slightest provocation. A small man with a shiny, bald head, he resembled the Jason Alexander character, George Constanza, on the Seinfeld show. Chris enjoyed the reruns when he refused to tap into any of the current television programing. And since the Seinfeld show was about nothing Chris briefly imagined that the knot in his stomach was overkill as he had nothing to worry about.

But that was not to be the case. Goodwin sized him up, then began without preface, “We’ve reached the end of the road with Michael,”

Chris gulped. Can’t be. “I don’t get it. Michael is a schizophrenic. You run a halfway house. Social Security pays his bills. How the hell can you kick him out?” Chris spattered as he attempted to assume an intimidating pose.

“We reserve the right to serve who we want. Your brother’s a major disruption. We can’t tolerate his sexually acting out any longer.”

“He’s a normal, red-blooded...if a woman starts playing around with his...his...thing, you can’t expect him to play dead.”

Goodwin threw his hands into the air and leaned back in his chair. “Is that what he told you?”

“Something like that.”

He exhaled a lungful of air. “Rosa...the woman involved...is a timid, little mouse. She doesn’t even talk to men. The only reason the family hasn’t pressed charges is because Michael is sick.”

Chris dropped into a chair, hit with a wave of nausea.

“Look, Michael’s a sweet, amusing and talented guy to have around most of the time, but he has to learn to follow the rules.”

“I can’t persuade you to give him another chance? Hire a lawyer or something?

Goodwin shook his head and for the first time seemed to convey some empathy for Chris.

That knot in Chris’ stomach started to vibrate like a volcano ready to erupt. “I imagine you have a list of other halfway houses?”

“Apparently you haven’t been very involved with your brother’s life.”

The stomach rumbling intensified.

“Michael has been kicked out of every halfway house in the city. There’s not a facility in the county that will take him.”

“So he’s supposed to go back to the State Hospital?”

“That’s not even an option unless he becomes symptomatic and acutely psychotic...and then only until he’s stabilized.”

“You’re telling me that he’s up shit’s creek without a paddle.”

“That’s about the gist of it.” He stood. “I’ll get him for you.”

“Me? What the hell am I supposed to do with him?”

Still reeling from the kick in the gut, Chris signed several papers as instructed without reading any of them and then drifted outside to wait for Michael. He had quit smoking years ago but he needed something to quell the anxiety and searched high and wide in the glove compartment of his car, under the seats, in every nook and cranny he could think of on the chance he’d come across a butt somewhere. His new car didn’t even have an ashtray, the place where he could always count on to find a butt in an emergency in the old days. He alighted from the car, his shirt sticking to his skin. It was a beautiful June day, full sun, with temperatures projected to hit the high seventies, but he suspected the clinging shirt had more to do with his anxieties. Was the shirt a metaphor for the brother attached to him?

When he lifted his head he looked up to see his twenty-three-year-old brother standing in front of the steps with a Cheshire grin as if he were going to embark on a new adventure. He wore a yellow and red patterned shirt, orange and green-striped shorts and black wingtips with white socks. He held a boom-box and a bag of personal belongings. A taped-together suitcase stood by his side. Chris wondered where his clothing allowance went. Even Goodwill or the consignment shops offered better. He lingered his gaze. He had a decision to make: go directly to Florida or to his apartment first to pack. He had a suitcase in his car from his weekend fishing trip with his buddy, Steve that he hadn’t yet unpacked. It contained his toiletries and, at least, one set of clean clothes. Washing clothes and buying more seemed preferable to showing Michael his place. Michael was bound to start talking about how he could live there, take over the second bedroom.

“Where are you taking me?” Michael asked in his loud, whiny, high-pitched voice. His tongue intermittently pushed against his lower lip, the result of tardive dyskinesia, a side-effect of the anti-psychotic medication.

“Florida.”

“I knew you’d make good on your promise, Chris. I knew you...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 7.7.2018
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-014993-4 / 0000149934
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-014993-0 / 9780000149930